I recently saw William Kentridge’s artistic adaptation of Shostakovich’s 1930s opera The Nose. Based on a Russian short story from 1836 by Nikolai Gogol, it was my first opera at the Met. I have loved opera ever since I saw the Phantom of the Opera when I was six or seven. The richness of that first experience left me with an unforgettable appreciation for the metaphorical, and a love for what seemed to be a kind of theatrical magic. In one of my undergraduate applications under the question, describe your first artistic experience, I described watching a chandelier rise in the first act of that opera. Every city I have lived in, by frivolous necessity, has an opera house, from Montpellier to Richmond. They are always that impressively ornate building located in the heart of downtown. With cool exteriors and dark, saturated interiors they feel a bit like a library, demanding a hushed tone of respect.
» Read the rest of this entry «
Who knew that going to art fairs could be fun? This past weekend nyc hosted the March madness of art fairs, openings, special events, and self-indulgent parties, all of which were crunched into the span of only four days. Each fair opened lazily at noon, and all were strewn carelessly around Manhattan. Trying to make an appearance during visiting hours at every event felt like the scavenger hunt from My Man Godfrey: completely absurd. Divvying up my weekend days, grouping the shows by like neighborhoods, organizing the fairs by importance, armed with my makeshift press pass, and resigned to the fact that one person can only see so much, I set out.
Without rushing or suffering from visual overload, I actually found that while I ruined my feet for the weekend, I enjoyed the whole spectacle. Not out to buy or to mingle either, I simply wandered the fairs with my camera and my curiosity. I ran into a few friends, saw Nick Cave at the Armory and Fred Wilson at The Art Show, talked with a good many gallery workers, and watched a tourist knock over a sculpture in his great hast to photograph a brightly painted naked woman. Though the champagne at the Armory cost sixteen dollars a glass, the people and even the shows themselves felt less ostentatious than last year.
(A William Kentridge collage from The Nose)
» Read the rest of this entry «
February’s vacation to central Florida was somehow unintentionally timed perfectly between two snowstorms that draped a dense white blanket over the entire east coast. Flying down the morning before the first storm, I was thankful for my last minute decision not to fly the day of the blizzard. I watched instead on television in 70 degree weather as airlines canceled their flights to and from cities waiting for the pending snow. Flying from New York to Florida on a beautifully clear and crisp day, following the coastline like a compass south, allowed me to lust after every strip of beachfront property from Far Rockaway to Daytona Beach.
» Read the rest of this entry «